


"a deal with the bogeyman" just doesn't sound as good as "a deal with the devil"

by neverazombie



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-26 18:39:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19011589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverazombie/pseuds/neverazombie
Summary: “I’m here to see Santino D’Antonio.”A long pause.“He’s recently retired to his room, sir.”Longer pause, unblinking eye contact.





	"a deal with the bogeyman" just doesn't sound as good as "a deal with the devil"

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, oh boy. Wrote this in about 2 1/2 hours so it's mostly crap but it's the first crap I've written in about 8 years so away we go!

“I’m here to see Santino D’Antonio.”

A long pause.

“He’s recently retired to his room, sir.”

Longer pause, unblinking eye contact.

“Room 709, sir.”

John turned to head to the elevators.

“If I may…”

He pauses. Waits.

Charon weighs his options. Weighs his soft spot for this man versus the potential consequences. This life is all about consequences.

“May I suggest a bottle of champagne to be sent ahead of your arrival?”

John quarter pivots, tilts his head.

“Perhaps you might recall the” an incline of Charon’s head softens the impact “rumors that arose regarding your meeting with Signor D’Antonio those five years ago. Regarding this.” He slides the marker across the pristine marble countertop towards John.

John makes direct eye contact, then slowly reaches for the marker.

“The High Table is very adamant regarding their rules, but they do hate to be involved in a… lover’s quarrel.”

The slightest change in John’s calm mask shows his surprise. He slowly considers the thought, and then nods at Charon. “Please.”

“Of course, sir.” As John walks just a hair more sedately towards the elevators, Charon allows his mouth to soften into a soft smirk and lifts the desk phone.

\-----

John stares at the elevator bank, eyes mostly unseeing except for the thousands of small environmental facts his mind was processing in the background regarding current hotel guests, their potential threat level and potential interest in interfering with his intent. 

None were worth more than a moment’s consideration.

The elevator door opened, it’s lone occupant taking one look at John and efficiently clearing the space. 

John pressed the button for the seventh floor and let out a small breath. 

After the chaos and bullshit of the past 24 hours, his anger had barely subsided. After one failed attempt to reach Santino already, he would have torn apart the Continental brick by brick if they’d tried to deny him entrance. Razed it and barely blinked at the rubble. It had been years since he’d felt so consumed by any emotion other than love, and then grief, that he’d forgotten how quickly fury could burn everything else away. 

The elevator door opened up to the seventh floor just in time for John to see a hotel employee knock on the door of a room halfway down the hall. He compulsively squeezed his hand tighter around the grip of the gun hooked through his belt. 

“Room service, Signor D’Antonio. A bottle of our finest champagne, compliments of Management, due to the circumstances of your stay.”

John approached the host, who didn’t spare even a blink towards the wrathful assassin stalking towards him. 

The door opened just a sliver at first.

“Management cannot begin to make up for this fiasco with a bottle of French rifiuti.”

The host maintained a politely open face.

“But leave it here. Although there is no need for a second gl-”

John slid past the host and stiff-armed Santino back into his room, kicking the door shut behind him.

Santino, to his credit, stood still exactly where John had forced him and didn’t take a single breath. 

As they both stared each other down in silence, John could hear the brisk retreat of the host. 

\---

Santino glanced down at the grip John has on his handgun. Finger extended, resting outside the trigger guard. He took the opening where it was provided.

“John. Consider the repercussions of killing a new member of the High Table, especially -” 

The finger slid closer to the trigger. Santino fell silent.

John was otherwise a statue, the only living thing the inferno inside of him.

“Are you so desperate for my death that you would be ready to give up your own life? No Continental assistance available ever again, the target of every assassin serving the Table and Under the Table as well. A bullet in my brain might as well be a bullet in yours.”

“Maybe.”

Neither man moved, the three feet of distance between them lengthening and closing in in turn. 

“Do you truly believe -”

“High Table doesn’t like getting involved in personal disputes.”

“Personal disputes, John? Meaning?”

John reached into his jacket pocket and slowly revealed the marker. Santino clenched his teeth, his own fury igniting at being confronted with the symbol of possibly the greatest mistake of his life.

“Not many people know what happened that night. Everyone that knows about this… dead or in this hotel.”

“If you’re referring to the rumours of our agreement, I must inform you that no one actually truly believes anything other than a business deal occurred.”

“Hmmm.”

John contemplated ending this without any further discussion, just fulfilling his raw animal desire to this man’s fucking miserable life.

“Doesn’t matter what people believe. What matters… whatever’s the easiest for the High Table to pass off as a reason for all of… this.”

Caught off guard by the rationality behind the few words spoken, Santino finally took a step back, ceding ground to John for the first time. 

John followed with an even step forward.

“John, I - if you understand that, then you must understand why I did what I did. It wasn’t personal, it was business. Unlike the reason for this marker, might I add.”

With the first real manifestation of his anger, John threw the marker at Santino, millimeters from his face and lodging into the wall behind him. 

The beginnings of true fear were seeping in under the anger. Santino’s heart rate sped up. Grasping for any detail that would keep him talking and delay John’s wrath for even a second longer, words tumbled out of his mouth with none of his usual grace and calculation.

“If the Table were to truly believe this were a lover’s spat gone wrong, there would need to be some sort of evidence to prove it to be the case. What will you do, John? Smash a champagne bottle and set the sheets to disarray?”

It felt more like waving a red cape at an already pissed off bull.

John took four long strides to close the space between them, moving almost faster than the naked eye could track. One hand still on the gun, the other gripped Santino’s lapel. 

“Sit.”

He shoved him roughly back into the sleek, modern chair across from the bed, leg sweeping one ankle out from underneath him to ensure he went down. Santino sank into it, not certain of the best time to make a break for freedom. Or if there was even a best time. 

Almost mockingly, John lifted the gun out of his belt and placed it on the bed. Santino couldn’t argue with the show of confidence. He had no hope of besting John in any sort of combat. Words were his only option, a poor weapon against a man who used so few of them. 

“Wrists.”

Santino lifted his arms together, turning his wrists upwards. A supplicant’s position.

Still looking directly into his eyes, John stepped back to the nightstand, sliding open the drawer and withdrawing a handful of zipties from it. 

Moving efficiently, he separated Santino’s arms and secured each to an arm of the chair. Not tight enough they would be easy to snap, not loose enough they would be easy to slide out of. Santino took a steadying breath and moved his ankles together.

“Nah. Legs are yours to use.” John seemed just the faintest bit amused now that he had the upper hand. 

Changing tacts, Santino offered, “Confidence is a good look for you, John.”

John’s face smoothed back out into its unreadable state. 

“Is there not another way, John? Now that I have a Seat, I could grant you any and all manner of things. Even your permanent retirement, if that is what you truly want.”

John paused, and considered. “You’d offer anything, wouldn’t you?”

Santino clung tightly to this line of conversation, searching for even the barest glimmer of hope. “Anything, John. Would you like to disappear forever? Live out the rest of your life mourning your woman in peace, never to be drawn back in under the Table?”

The first, barest, real hesitation showed on John’s face. The grief, still fresh, was like sitting on John’s shoulders like the world on Atlas’.

Santino’s overconfidence would literally be his undoing. “Or maybe what you prefer is an outlet for this grief, this unending pit of sorrow and hopelessness that has opened up beneath you. I can give you that. Give you impossible task after impossible task, until you’ve left your humanity entirely behind.”

John’s entire face tightened and he shot forward into Santino’s space. A hand around the wrist and clutching the chairback, he leaned in centimeters from Santino. He made deliberate eye contact and held it for a moment without speaking. 

“Maybe what I’d prefer is a bullet through your skull before you have time to scream.”

“I -”

The hand on the back of the chair clamped down on Santino’s jaw. They breathed into each other’s air, a stillness overtaking the room. 

John’s hand relaxed slightly, moving further down Santino’s jawline but catching his bottom lip tightly with his thumb.

“Stay still. Have to make this look good.”

He pushed his hand up, exposing Santino’s neck, leaning in further until the warm air of his exhalation gusted against Santino’s pulse. 

The brutal crush of his teeth along the side of Santino’s neck made him jolt in the chair, a soft noise escaping him from the sheer shock of movement. 

John lingered for a moment, letting his tongue flicker lightly over the skin, and then sucked violently. Santino’s fists clenched uselessly against the chair, biceps and forearms straining against the ties. 

John’s mouth moved away again, other hand sliding to join it’s partner cupping Santino’s face. He pushed his thumbs against Santino’s lower lip, pressure making it swell slightly. Santino’s tongue moved unconsciously to wet his lip, brushing against John’s fingers. John’s eyes rose back up from their gaze at the mark he had left to make contact with Santino’s. 

A long pause.

Santino inhaled sharply to speak, but no words came out. 

Longer pause, unblinking eye contact.

Santino used his tongue to draw in one of John’s thumbs further into his warm, wet mouth. He gently sucked, frantically studying John’s face for any reaction. A minute dilation of his pupils was enough. 

Tilting his head back as far as it would go, “Yes John, make it look good.”

Studying his face, John’s jaw clenched and relaxed a few times. 

“Yeah.”

He leaned back in towards the mark he had already left on Santino’s neck, but instead of biting back down, he simply pressed his stubbled cheek against Santino’s, lips just next to his ear. 

Forcing his thumb even further into Santino’s mouth he breathed, “How good?”

If Santino valued his life even a little less, he would have bit down on that thumb just to be contrary. Part of him was tempted anyways.

As if sensing his thoughts, John’s hands tightened onto his jaw, rendering it immobile. He seemed content for the moment to remain against Santino’s ear, even breaths reminding him of his presence. 

Having these hands, hands that had slaughtered numbers probably into the thousands, hold him on the brink of his own destruction was unfortunately incredibly arousing for Santino. It reminded him of why he ever agreed to this fucking marker in the first place.

He had rolled the die of fate once by trying to eliminate John once, might as well roll a second time to see if his luck had returned. 

Letting his body slouch slightly into the chair and his legs fall easily apart, he made his intentions as clear as possible to John. 

With that small sign of submission, John huffed against his ear and stepped back. Staring down Santino he stepped back to the bed and picked up the gun. Before Santino could even feel the beginnings of terror, John had ejected the mag and cleared the round in the chamber, catching it neatly in a show of arrogant precision, and set the gun back down, lining the equipment up neatly.

“A sporting chance?” Santino scoffed.

“Gonna enjoy this.”

Before he could respond, John’s fist connected in a hard hit across the corner of his cheek, the larger fist covering almost from the tip of his mouth to the tip of his earlobe. His head snapped to the side at the impact and he cursed wildly.

“Yeah. Definitely gonna enjoy this.”

“Is this how your treat all of your-” Santino caught himself before finishing that potentially catastrophic question. 

Another hit, this time directly to the gut, driving the air straight out of him. 

He wheezed, hunched over and looking up through his chaotic hair at John. John grasped that hair and yanked his head back again.

John’s breath was still coming at a terrifyingly even pace, reminding Santino of how much damage he could inflict without breaking a sweat. 

His temper was quickly getting the better of him. Since he couldn’t return the blows physically, well…

“So how will we bargain, John? Am I simply begging for my life to be spared? Or am I offering the power my Seat controls? A blowjob and the promise of retirement, is that a fair price?”

John’s other hand shot to his throat, carefully controlled to prevent any further conversation but not to completely impede breathing. 

Santino shifted in his seat, the thrill of arousal increasing.

John pressed harder. 

Santino’s hips bucked sharply. 

Another pause that lasted both a lifetime and the blink of an eye.

John’s lips hovered above Santino’s. They breathed in each other’s air, neither daring to look away. Santino’s arms moved against their restraints, eager to force the other man into action. 

John’s lips just barely brushed against his, and then journeyed back over to his ear. The tip of John’s nose gently traced the top curve of his ear, the gentle touch feeling shockingly out of place and causing Santino to shiver. John’s hands shifted in his hair, shifted around his throat and he seemed to reluctantly indulge in the contact. He seemed lost in the moment, and Santino considered briefly the possibility of escape. He could kick the man squarely in the balls, but he’d find his neck snapped not a moment later, most likely. Better to let this play out, to see what leverage he could gain.

John stepped in closer, legs framing Santino’s as he curled around the seated man. His touch and sheer presence were equally heavy in this space.

Keeping his thoughts to himself, Santino wondered curiously to himself Did you think you would never have this again, John? After your wife passed, that you would never touch another human being without outright violence as the cause again?

Following this thought, he pushed himself as far into contact with John as he could, the top of his head into his hands, his knees into the insides of John’s thighs.

John released a long heavy breath, and hesitated for a second time. 

Almost thoughtlessly, his lips pressed a soft kiss into the tip of Santino’s ear and let the hold soften on his neck. 

Santino turned his head towards John’s dragging his lips gently against the stubble.

“John.” He put every ounce of gentleness he had left in his body into the name.

John tensed, and then turned and caught his lips in a kiss. Not violent, like Santino had expected, but firm, the weight of it pressed his head firmly back against the chair. To his further surprise, he realized that John had closed his eyes. 

“John.” He tried again, even softer this time. 

John made a soft noise of unknown intent and released Santino’s throat. That hand slid to the back of his neck and clamped down hard, tilting his head in the direction John wanted to increase the intensity of the kiss. He bit down onto Santino’s lower lip and slid his tongue in smoothly. Santino returned the kiss eagerly. He pushed forward to meet John equally. John immediately removed his grip and leaned away, let the barest hint of a smile touch his lips, and backhanded Santino. 

Santino cursed furiously again and glared up at John. 

“Sit. Stay.” John was laughing at him now (internally).

Santino sat still.

“Good boy.”

John surged back in towards him, tipping the heavy chair onto its back two legs as he pressed in to kiss Santino ruthlessly. 

Santino felt set off balance in every way. Which, he supposed, was the point. 

John’s heavy, rough stubble dragged uncomfortably against his own much more fine trace of stubble as he asserted himself over Santino.

His mouth returned to the side of Santino’s neck, finding the mark previously left and worrying it slightly. 

“Mio dio, John, do something past this awkward teenage fumbling or put me out of my misery now.”

Predictably, John bit down in response.

He then drew back slightly, letting the other two chair legs return to the ground. 

Keeping their faces close, John huffed a laugh. “Blowjob and a retirement package, right?” 

Santino struggled to keep the smirk off his face. “An agreement I think will satisfy all parties.”

John reached for his belt.

“Would this not be easier if I had use of my hands?” He wiggled the fingers of his bound hands.

John stared at him, conveying the air of an eyebrow raised in disbelief without actually changing his expression.

“Fool me once…”

Santino shrugged. “It was worth a shot, as you Americans say.”

He watched John undo his belt buckle in swift, efficient movements. As John stepped in to close the space, he wrapped one leg around John’s, encouraging him. 

“So will you be joining me on this chair, John? Or…?”

As he finished unzipping his fly, John hiked up his leg to prop on Santino’s bound left arm, and gripped the back of the chair with his open hand. Assassins, flexible in all manners. His half hard cock was inches from Santino’s face. Santino was rested comfortably back against the chair and instead of closing the remaining distance, looked mildly up at John. John rumbled in annoyance and yanked Santino in by his hair, pressing his face right into the side of his cock. Santino paused, drawing out any moment he had in his favor. He exhaled and John pulled harder on his hair, now impatient. 

He let his tongue wet his lips, the tip of it sliding up the side of John’s cock softly. He kissed his way up to the tip. The balance of power in the room was at an odd balance, and he let himself relish in it. 

His neck was at an awkward angle but he let his lips slid apart around John’s cock and allowed the first few inches into his mouth. John’s fist tightened convulsively around his scalp but he made no sound. He rubbed his tongue roughly against the tip and started a short rhythm, spreading his saliva further and further down John each time he moved. John made the first abortive thrust of his hips against Santino’s mouth, and seemed to catch himself and school his body back to stillness.

Santino pressed against John’s hand on his head to move far back enough to speak. After a second of holding Santino in place, John allowed him to move. 

“John, let yourself enjoy this. For you, this is a victory you may never have again.”

He could hear John’s teeth grinding as he spoke, and fully expected to be yanked back down onto the man’s cock. Instead, John surprised him by shifted slightly over and rubbing his fully hard cock against Santino’s cheek. 

“Seems like there isn’t anyone losing out in this room. Maybe you get to live, and you also get to blow me.” 

“Maybe?” Santino asked, annoyed, and was shocked into silence when John slapped him open-handed on his opposite cheek.

“Don’t hear you complaining about having my cock in your mouth, though.”

John pressed back in, Santino taking him without hesitation. Difficult to do without any hands to help, but Santino had done more with less. 

And Santino was hard. Very hard. Maybe John had noticed, maybe he hadn’t, maybe he didn’t care. He couldn’t recall the last time he wasn’t in complete control of…. Any situation really, let alone while fucking. 

Having Death’s Very Emissary feed him his cock was shockingly arousing. Unfairly arousing. Perhaps John was right. If Santino survived, he would absolutely not count himself as a loser in this game.

He let his mouth fill with saliva and used it to slick the passage of John’s cock in and out of his mouth. The man was setting a demanding pace, but nothing Santino couldn’t keep up with. John’s movements now were just as smooth, just as natural as when eliminating a room of heavily armed combatants. His hips rolled easily even with the wide spread of his legs, balancing with effortless and easy grace. 

Santino adjusted to any change in the rhythm, bobbing his head slightly further forward, leaning slightly further back against a harder thrust, finding it to be a give and take similar to every other interaction he’d ever had with John. John seemed content to let him continue on, the only sign of his nearing orgasm some small, hitching breaths as he moved. 

John’s pace sped up, pushing further into Santino’s mouth with a harder, more intent thrust. Santino chased it, relaxing his throat as best he could if John tried to fit himself entirely. Fuck, he was uncomfortably hard. He couldn’t even help the futile jerk of his hips off the chair. 

John’s hand dropped from the back of his head to his upper thigh, thumb pushing into his hip and forcibly stopping Santino’s movements.

Santino whined around John’s cock, chancing a look up at his face to search for his intent. 

John met his eyes as always, squeezing his thigh tightly and rubbing his thumb against Santino’s tight balls. Santino felt his eyes slightly flutter at the contact and attempted another thrust. John’s hands were incredibly strong and his attempts got him nowhere. 

Santino slid John’s cock as far into his throat as he could and then pulled back to just the tip, sucking hard. John pulled him all the way off and brought his own hand to his cock, jerking it savagely. In just a few pulls, he was coming, letting it spill across Santino’s face. Santino reared away but had nowhere to go to avoid it. After a few final tugs, John let go of his spent cock and brought both hands to cup Santino’s face, pushing his cum around with his fingers and massaging it into his face. Santino was torn between being completely disgusted and being half a second away from coming himself. 

John removed his foot from Santino’s arm and stepped back to gaze at him. 

Santino rolled the dice again.

“If we’re supposed to be lovers, don’t you suppose…?” He thrust his hips at John, hard cock straining against his tailored trousers.

John tucked himself back in, zipped up and buckled his belt. Considered Santino. 

He moved closer once again and this time, planted one knee on the chair in between Santino’s legs. 

“Here.”

He moved his knee to press right under Santino’s balls, lining up the front of his leg with Santino’s cock. 

Santino weighed his options. Was he really going to… ?

Fuck.

Yes, he really was.

He pushed forward against John’s leg, humping it without any shame. John hovered over him, watching, giving him just enough pressure to rub against. On his next thrust, Santino strained up as far as the ties would allow and caught John’s lips with his own. John kissed him easily, unbothered by the taste of his own come smeared across Santino’s lips. 

In what seemed like only seconds, Santino cursed against John’s mouth and came. 

Collapsing back into the chair, he took a few seconds to catch his breath, a feeling of deep seated satisfaction rolling over him. 

John seemed to immediately interpret his expression and snatched up the gun from the bed instantly. Before Santino could open his mouth to protest, John pulled the trigger, aimed directly at his head.

Click.

Santino belatedly flinched, and stared in confusion down the barrel of the gun. 

John tossed the gun back onto the bed… next to the mag and previously chambered round. 

The man turned to walk towards the door. 

“Don’t go anywhere. Gonna get a witness for the terms of our agreement.”

Santino’s could barely process the information fast enough. 

“John, don’t you dare. Let me up! We are men, the terms of our agreement will be honored by our own word-”

The door slammed shut as John walked out.


End file.
